


deafening silence

by jemejem



Series: Andreil Week 2k19 [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Deaf Neil, Established Relationship, M/M, injury/recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem
Summary: from the prompt: deafening sound.





	deafening silence

The silence was deafening. 

Neil sat up slowly but found himself tucked into bed: He was suddenly encompassed by a nauseating dizziness that forced him to lay down again. 

The sunlight came through the shutters in golden strips, lining the golden threads of his hair. His jaw was taut, glare vile enough to pierce through the glass window he gazed out of. Neil croaked out his name, but heard no sound: Andrew must have heard his movement, because he was by Neil’s side immediately, placing a glass of water to his lips and steadying his head. 

The silence was _deafening._

What’s going on? Neil asked. I can’t hear anything. Why can’t I hear anything? Say something, Andrew. 

Neil saw his lips moving, but heard no sound. Instead, a ringing ricocheted within his skull. He writhed in phantom pain, digging the heels of his palms into his eye socket. What is happening, ‘Drew? I’m so confused. What’s happening. 

Andrew grabbed Neil by the wrists and forced his hands down. He slapped a piece of paper and a pen into Neil’s hands: On it was scribbled:  
 _You were hit badly on the right side of your head. The deafness might be temporary, might not be. We’ll have to talk to the doctor._

Neil looked up at him in dismay. I’m deaf? Can you even hear me talk?

Andrew nodded, and quickly scrawled out: _I’m getting the nurse. Stay._

Always, Neil said. Andrew flicked his cheek, and Neil didn’t need Andrew to write to understood what he said. 

_241, junkie._

*

They were in the awkward stage between signing and writing on a piece of pen and paper. Andrew and Neil were at the same capability, since Neil had nothing better to do whilst on bed-rest, and Andrew picked up languages — whether spoke or signed — like nothing else. Still, the notepad stayed in Andrew’s pocket at all times. 

Kisses had been halted for a few days after Neil’s arrival home, which was somewhat of a relief: The concussion still rendered him weak and dizzy. He didn’t need Andrew taking his breath away on top of that. 

Neil had stood in front of the Maserati’s driver door before he’d been able to clamber in on the way to the doctor’s. Yes or no, ‘Drew? 

Andrew narrowed his eyes. 

I’m not bad at lip reading, Neil offered. Or reading your stance. I know you want to.

_Fine._ Andrew mouthed, before contradicting himself and pressing Neil to the car door. Neil smiled, and Andrew tapped his wrists, a bygone gesture of closer and fingers in hair. 

Neil laughed into his mouth before they could get too carried away. Doctor, he reminded him. Andrew nodded, seemingly unaffected but for the blush on his cheeks. 

The doctor was usually bad news: Today, they set out cochlear implants across the desktop, various models and sizes and attachment mechanisms and surgery requirements. 

_We could probably salvage your left ear,_ the doctor signed. Neil’s headache was growing from his struggles to interpret it. _Using a hearing aid. Your right has been too traumatised upon impact._

Some is better than none, he argued. It’s fine. I don’t need hearing to play. 

_It’s a team sport._ Andrew argued. _There’s already talk of you being traded._

But if I leave, will you? 

_Of course. That’s why they’ll never let you go. We’re their best players._

Neil found Andrew’s hand and grasped his fingers, their hands hidden from the doctor from his desk. 

_Let’s see if this works, Neil._ The doctor smiled warmly. _No harm in trying._

Neil nodded. 

*

It was the fourth time he’d woken up in hospital: Once in Baltimore, once after the injury, and now after his second operation. His head felt heavy, and it wasn’t just with the drugs lingering in his system. 

Did it work? Drew? Where are you? I can’t see you. Hello? He could feel the way his throat croaked, even if he couldn’t hear it. 

He looked around, mildly panicked. Andrew wasn’t there: He was always there when Neil woke up. Deafening silence. Deafening silence. Neil felt his chest rising and falling, his vocal chords straining, but never heard anything. _Deafening silence._

A nurse walked in briskly, hands at the ready to sign. _Sir, please calm down. You’re alright. Your friend will return soon._

Don’t call him my friend. He’s my husband. Where is he? Is he alright? 

_Sir, you must calm down. Breathe. It’s okay. It’s ten-thirty in the evening and you’ve just woken from your cochlear implant surgery. Your husband will return soon._

Neil laid back, glaring at the ceiling. He forced his hands to remain still, wound in the sheets of his hospital bed. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in, breathing out. 

Now that he was deaf Andrew would never touch Neil without his explicit permission, so he leaned over Neil’s bed to catch his attention. Neil reached out to wind his fingers in his familiar buzz at the back of Andrew’s head, drawing him down. Kissing him was always a relief, a stabiliser. Neil immediately relaxed, drawing back to the bed. 

Foggy, he complained. 

Andrew didn’t smile, but there was recognisable warmth in his eyes. _Idiot,_ he signed. 

Neil nodded weakly, closing his eyes with their fingers intertwined. 

*

Today was the day. Two weeks after the surgery, the doctor would turn on the implant. The stitches were removed. If it worked, Neil would be able to hear again. Play without scrutiny again. Hear Andrew’s voice again.

_Excited?_ He signed. Andrew rolled his eyes. _Get in the car, junkie._

Neil grinned. 

He knew not to anticipate results. It was extremely unlikely that the implants would be properly functioning after the second surgery, seeing as this was trauma-induced, rather than genetic or degenerative. Neil would keep going back till there was progress. Ichirou was most likely watching: He was suspended till the end of the off-season, and his performance would be reevaluated. The team’s manager had taken Andrew’s ultimatum with grace, and promised Neil they’d hold onto him and figure something out. 

Neil felt Andrew’s fingers brush over the back of his hand. He looked away from the window to see Andrew’s risen eyebrow. He risked his hands off the wheel to ask _good?_

Fine, Neil said, with a quiet smile. Andrew rolled his eyes. 

First it was to the radiographer: He was no longer able to have MRIs with the magnets embedded in his skull, so he was positioned in the X-Ray room. As the images developed, he met with his doctor. The doctor’s rehabilitation space was sound-proofed, with a patient bed and accompanying chairs. 

_Good to see you, Neil._ The doctor answered what Neil assumed were knocks at his door as Neil laid back, Andrew drawing a chair close. He projected the images and perused them for a few minutes, before turning that increasingly irritating smile onto Neil. _I suppose we’d best try to turn them on now, yes?_

Neil nodded jerkily and grit his teeth as the doctor leaned to switch his implant on.   
_Close your eyes._

How long had it been, three months? Almost four? The rush of white noise was disorienting: The beating of his heart, the laboured breaths of the doctor, the rush of traffic outside, Andrew’s sharp inhale. 

And then, the first word. 

_“Neil.”_

He opened his eyes. “Drew.” His voice was roughened with misuse. “It worked."

Andrew looked at the doctor. Gratitude and thanksgiving didn’t come easily to Andrew, so the “Thank you.” he managed was awkward and stiff, but genuine all the same. 

Neil still couldn’t hear out of the right, and there was an odd deadened quality to the sounds his left was attempting to interpret, but it was more than enough. 

He looked at Andrew as the doctor talked, studying the profile of his angular jaw and sleek cheekbones, the golden rim of his eyes and his sparse eyelashes.

“Staring.” He murmured in german. 

Everything was just fine.


End file.
